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anonymousewrites · 21 days ago

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A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 4) Chapter Twenty-Four

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Twenty-Four: Torturous Choice

Summary: (Y/N) gets their turn in Eurus's game.

Eurus’s declaration hung in the air. Sherlock looked at his child in worry, John’s eyes widened in shock, and Mycroft stiffened at the words.

(Y/N) remained silent and still. If they were being “tested” next in this experiment, then they had to be focused. They couldn’t afford the anxious reactions Eurus wanted to provoke.

“Coffin,” said Eurus, drawing their attention to the coffin in the center of the room. “Problem, someone is about to die. It will be, as I understand it, a tragedy. So many days not lived. So many words unsaid. Etcetera, etcetera. Etcetera, etcetera.”

“And this will be their coffin,” said (Y/N).

“Whose coffin, (Y/N)?” said Eurus. “Start the deductions. I will apply some context in a moment.”

Context means death. (Y/N)’s hands flexed, and they looked at the coffin. “It’s for someone approximately 5’3”. Size indicates a woman, not a child, price range means someone with money, made ornamentally, which suggests taste and someone with connections…” (Y/N) paused as a face flashed into their mind. They straightened. “John, can you look at the lid. I need all information available to me.”

“Yeah,” said John.

He took the lid and leaned it back. He frowned. He turned it around. The plaque on top read “I LOVE YOU.”

“So, it’s for somebody who loves somebody?” said John.

“It’s for someone who loves (Y/N),” said Mycroft. He looked at them. “Who loves you? I’m assuming it’s not a long list.”

“You know who it is,” said Sherlock. “You’ve already figured it out.” He wasn’t sure, but he could see (Y/N)’s gaze.

“Irene. This coffin is meant for Irene Adler,” said (Y/N).

“She’s perfectly safe for the moment,” said Eurus. A video of an apartment Irene was walking around in and a timer with three minutes on it flashed onto the screen. “Her current flat is rigged to explode in approximately three minutes, unless I hear the release code from her lips.

“Moriarty said you are talented at cutting people down, seeing their weak points. Let’s see if the same talent can be applied to getting people to ‘care,’ or however you define saying the release code willingly,” said Eurus.

Again, an experiment based on emotion, this time on comparing (Y/N) seeing weak points and using it to hurt and judging if it can be used in a heartfelt way.

“I’m calling her on Sherlock’s phone,” said Eurus. “Make her see it.”

“Say what?” said Sherlock, stepping to (Y/N’s side protectively.

“Obvious, Sherly,” said Eurus.

(Y/N) looked at the words on top of the coffin. I love you. That’s what Irene needed to say.

“Oh, one important restriction. You’re not allowed to mention in any way at all that her life is in danger,” said Eurus. “You may not, at any point, suggest that there is any form of crisis. If you do, I will end this session and her life. Are we clear?”

(Y/N) nodded.

The phone rang, and the sound was jarring as (Y/N) stood, silently waiting for Irene to pick up. The countdown had begun.

“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” sang Moriarty.

The line rang, and (Y/N) watched Irene cross to the bag with her phone. She picked it up and looked at it long and hard.

Please. Pick up, thought (Y/N).

Irene pressed the accept call button. “Dinner?”

“Sorry. Not Sherlock,” said (Y/N).

“(Y/N)?” said Irene, frowning before smiling. “This is unexpected. Stealing Sherlock’s phone, too. Very mischievous.”

“Irene, I need your help,” said (Y/N).

Irene’s face fell again. “Are you alright?”

“Can you-Can you tell me that you love me?” said (Y/N).

“What?” Irene paused uncomfortably. “(Y/N), I—”

“Please,” said (Y/N). “Please, Irene.”

“(Y/N), those words…I’ve never said them,” said Irene. “With who I am—I can’t afford to.”

(Y/N) sucked in a breath, and John and Sherlock tensed.

“Please, Irene,” said (Y/N). “I need to hear them. Please.”

“Why? (Y/N), you know I—respect you. You’re a kind person with a good heart,” said Irene. “But those words—”

“I know you told my dad Moriarty was my biological father,” said (Y/N). “Why?”

“Because he saved my life. I owed him,” said Irene.

“No you didn’t,” said (Y/N).

“(Y/N), don’t you use your deductions on me,” said Irene, tensing.

“You told him because you wanted to help me,” said (Y/N). “Because you care.”

Irene was silent, and (Y/N) went on.

“But I wanted to say thank you,” said (Y/N). “Because-Because my biological mom messed up. A lot. All the time. She never tried to do the right thing for me. But you…even when you messed up and worked with Moriarty, you tried to help me. You cared.” They swallowed. “And I wanted to thank you. Because that matters to me. Because you’re the only example of a good mom I’ve ever had.”

“(Y/N),” said Irene softly.

“Even if you don’t feel the same,” said (Y/N). “I love you.”

Silence. Sherlock stared at (Y/N). He could see them speaking truthfully, not just pushing the right buttons to get Irene to respond.

“Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock,” said Moriarty.

“Irene?” said (Y/N) quietly, hesitantly.

“Final thirty seconds,” said Eurus.

“…Mom?” whispered (Y/N).

“I love you,” said Irene softly.

The beeping stopped, and (Y/N) stumbled as their tense body relaxed in abrupt relief. Sherlock caught them and held them. Mycroft and John sighed in relief.

“Thank—”

The line disconnected, and the video of Irene disappeared. (Y/N) was silent and swallowed.

Sherlock gazed at them worriedly, knowing just how hard they had just pushed themself. “(Y/N), are you—”

“I won, Eurus,” said (Y/N), their voice becoming cold. “I played your game, and I won. Let us speak to the girl again, the girl on the plane. We played your game and won. I saved Irene.

Eurus scoffed. “Saved her? From what? Oh, do be sensible. There were no explosives in her little flat. Why would I be so clumsy? You didn’t win. You lost. You had to bear your heart as people say, for nothing. All those complicated little emotions. You found her pressure points, but you cost yourself. Hm. Interesting.

“And Sherlock. You and your little emotions, I lost count,” said Eurus. “Emotional context destroys you every time. Especially when it involves (Y/N).”

Sherlock let out a long, low breath as he held (Y/N) close as they just stared into space. They had been honest. They had told Irene how they His grip tightened, and his gaze went to the tv screen with furious rage in his eyes. Eurus had made (Y/N) go through so much emotional distress to test him in the end, to see that he couldn’t stand it when (Y/N) got hurt. Once again, she had conducted an experiment to hurt people, and now it hurt people he knew and loved—it hurt (Y/N).

“Now, please, pull yourself together,” said Eurus to Sherlock. “I need you at peak efficiency. The next one isn’t going to be so easy for you. You’ll have to be active, not just observing.” The next door slid open. “In your own time.”

“Dad…” said (Y/N) quietly. Sherlock looked at them. (Y/N) met his gaze, and their eyes were filled with a cold rage. “Tear her game to hell.”

Sherlock looked at them and nodded. He would. For them. For Eurus hurting them. For Eurus playing with their feelings.

No one hurt his kid and won.

Sherlock let go of (Y/N). John and Mycroft took it as a cue and walked towards the door. Sherlock picked up the lid of the coffin and placed it on top. John and Mycroft looked back. Sherlock looked at (Y/N). They gazed back.

Sherlock smashed his fist through the coffin. Once, twice, three times, four, a dozen, fifty. He lost count as he kicked and hit the coffin. The wood shattered, splintered, and flew around the room. He screamed with rage as he destroyed it and the only piece of Eurus’s game he could get at. Sherlock broke apart what had hurt (Y/N).

He stood in the middle of the mess and panted.

“Sherlock—” said John. He stopped and started it again. “We have to keep it together. For the girl. For (Y/N). I know it’s torture, but…we’re soldiers today.”

He knew it was hard and what had just happened was damaging and more traumatic for (Y/N) than anything else in this game yet, but he also knew it was his responsibility to make sure Sherlock didn’t lose himself. That would be the ultimate loss.

“This isn’t torture,” said Sherlock. “This is vivisection. We’re experiencing science from the perspective of lab rats.” He looked at John. He swallowed. “Soldiers.”

“Soldiers,” confirmed John, thankful to have Sherlock a little stabler once more.

Sherlock walked to the next door and led the way to the next room.

“Tick-tock. Tickets, please,” announced Moriarty.

The room had grey walls, no windows, and four screens circling the group.

“Hey, sis, don’t mean to complain, but this one’s empty,” said Sherlock. “What happened? Did you run out of ideas?”

“It’s not empty, Sherlock,” said Eurus, appearing on all four tvs. “You’ve still got the gun, haven’t you? I told you you’d need it because only two can play the next game. Just two of you go on from here. It’s your choice. It’s make-your-mind-up time. Whose help do you need the most? John, Mycroft, or (Y/N)? It’s an elimination round. You choose one and kill the others.”

Two bullets. Three loved people. One terrible, horrible game.

John sucked in a breath, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

“You have to choose friend, brother, or child,” said Eurus. “John Watson, Mycroft Holmes, or (Y/N) Holmes.”

Sherlock turned and stared at them all, face blank.

“Tick, tick, tick,” taunted Moriarty.

“Eurus, enough!” said Mycroft.

“Not yet, I think, but nearly there,” said Eurus. “Remember, there’s a plane in the sky, and it’s not going to land.”

(Y/N) looked at Sherlock, a thousand thoughts in their head. There was only one choice. They wouldn’t make him choose, they had to be one of the people to die, they’d offer it so that he wouldn’t torture himself—

“Well.” Mycroft stepped forward.

“Well what?” snapped Sherlock.

“We’re not actually going to discuss this, are we?” said Mycroft imperiously. “I’m sorry. Dr. Watson, you are a fine man in many respects, and (Y/N), you have a fine mind but you are not real family. Not blood.” He looked at Sherlock. “Make your goodbyes and shoot them. Shoot them.”

“What?” said John.

“What?” said (Y/N), staring at him. They couldn’t believe he had said they weren’t family—Oh.

“Shoot Dr. Watson and (Y/N),” said Mycroft. “There’s no questioning who has to continue from here. It’s us. You and me. Whatever lies ahead requires brain power, Sherlock. Not sentiment. Don’t prolong their agony. Shoot them.”

“Do we get a say in this?” snapped John. “(Y/N) is a child, they should get to go forward.”

“John, you have a child, you’re a father,” said (Y/N). “You have to—”

“Today we are soldiers,” said Mycroft. “Soldiers die for their country. I regret that that privilege is now yours.”

“Shit. He’s right.” John swallowed. “But it’s mine and yours, not (Y/N)’s. Not a child.”

“And I say not a father,” said (Y/N), looking at John.

“Make it swift, Sherlock,” said Mycroft. “No need to prolong their agony. Get it over with, and we can get to work.”

Sherlock looked down and swallowed.

“God!” scoffed Mycroft derisively. “I should have expected this. Pathetic. You always were the slow one. The idiot. That’s why I’ve always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now, for once in your life, do the right thing. Put this stupid little man and unnecessary addition to the family out of all our misery. Shoot them.”

“Stop it,” said Sherlock softly.

“Look at them. What are they?” said Mycroft. “Nothing more than distractions, little scraps of people for you to impress, to dazzle with your cleverness. You’ll find more.”

“Please, for God’s sake, just stop it,” said Sherlock, shaking his head.

“Why?” said Mycroft.

“Because on balance even your Lady Bracknell was more convincing,” said Sherlock, facing Mycroft. He looked at John and (Y/N). “Ignore everything he said. He was trying to be kind. He’s trying to make it easier to kill him so I don’t have to choose twice.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. “Which is why this is going to be so much harder.” He lifted the gun and pointed at Mycroft.

“You said you liked my Lady Bracknell.” Mycroft seemed unconcerned about dying. He had tried to protect Sherlock from feeling grief and having to choose two people. He had tried to take away guilt. He had tried to be a good older brother and a good uncle. He had no regrets.”

“Dad—”

“Not in the face, though. Please,” said Mycroft politely. “I promised my brain to the Royal Society.”

On the screens, Eurus leaned in, watching with interest.

“Where would you suggest?” said Sherlock.

“Well, I suppose there is a heart somewhere inside me,” said Mycroft, straightening his tie. “I don’t imagine it’s much of a target, but why don’t we try for that?”

“Dad,” said (Y/N) again.

“This is my fault,” said Mycroft firmly. He paused. “Moriarty.”

“Moriarty?” said Sherlock.

“Her Christmas treat,” said Mycroft. “Five minutes’ conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago.”

“What did they discuss?” said Sherlock.

“Five minutes’ conversation, unsupervised,” admitted Mycroft.

(Y/N)’s eyes closed in disappointment at the choice, and John turned away.

“Goodbye, brother mine,” said Mycroft. “No flowers. By request.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and leveled the gun at Mycroft’s heart.

“Jim Moriarty thought you’d make this choice,” remarked Eurus. “He was so excited. He had plans in life, but he was satisfied with this if he died. Pity. He was interesting. He had plans for his child. But here we are.” She still had no intonation, no emotions.

“And here we are, at the end of the line,” said Moriarty, appearing on the screen. “Holmes killing Holmes. Wonder who you’ll kill next? My child? Or your pet?” He leaned to the camera. “This is where I get off.”

“Dad,” said (Y/N), and Sherlock looked at them. “Tear her game to hell.” Even if they died here, now, in this room, they wanted him to win. They wanted Eurus to lose.

Sherlock looked at them, his dear child, his family, and he came to a decision. He would tear the game to hell.

“Five minutes,” he said. “It took her just five minutes to do all of this to us.” He looked at (Y/N). “And it took five words to wake me up.” Tear her game to hell. His arm dropped.

“What are you doing?” said Eurus.

“A moment ago, a brave man asked to be remembered,” said Sherlock. “I’m remembering the director.” He lifted the gun to his chin. “Ten.” He started his own countdown.

“No!” said (Y/N), lunging for their dad. John and Mycroft grabbed them and pulled them back.

“Nine,” said Sherlock.

“No, no, Sherlock,” said Eurus, her voice gaining some inflection. She hadn’t anticipated this.

“Eight.”

“You can’t,” said Eurus.

“Seven.”

“You don’t know about Redbeard yet,” said Eurus, trying to entice him with information.

“Six.”

“Dad!” said (Y/N), straining desperately against John and Mycroft.

“Five.”

“Sherlock, stop that at once.”

A hole in the wall opened, and—thwip!—a dart landed in Sherlock’s neck.

“Four.”

Thwip. (Y/N) groaned.

“Three…” Sherlock’s words slurred.

Twhip, thwip. John and Mycroft slapped a hand over their necks.

“Two…”

(Y/N)’s head spun, then the world whirled around them, and then they were falling.

Their consciousness left them before they hit the ground.

Taglist:

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@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover

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@ohimjustagirlidrathetnotbe

@snowy-violet

@jaguarthecat

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cleromancy · 1 year ago

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jasons got so much black and white thinking at times like. if Bruce can't do this for me he never loved me. if Bruce never loved me i am unlovable. if im unlovable i might as well be hated for something ive done instead of something i am...

its that last one thats the only thing that really keeps me firmly in camp shrodingers felipe... like i vehemently disagree that jason having done it is like "proof" he was ~already bad~ or ~too damaged~ or whatever the fuck dumbshit. like morally speaking jason weighed this mans life over the life of his next victim and made a choice and while you don't have to agree with him, or judy koslosky for that matter (batman 422, jason goes on to paraphrase her in lost days)... like, come on. it was explicit that the law and batman couldn't touch him, he bragged he was gonna do it again, jasons options as presented to him were "let him" or "kill him".

but the reason i continue to like the ambiguity there about whether or not jason did kill the guy is because bruces reaction... i mean my god, compare and contrast ollies reaction when 16-year-old *mia* thought she had to kill someone while ollie visibly disagreed-- ga 39:

ga 40:

^ btw this is also one reason OF MANY why i kill and eat anyone who compares ollie negatively to bruce. fava beans nice chianti etcetera etcetera

(dinah also reams him out about it more in this same issue while they're breaking up. read green arrow 2001 🔫)

anyway. fuckin buce by contrast

batman (1940) 424

batman 425

just to start. (ditf starts at issue 426 btw.) (also god starlin is such a hack. Bruce directly causes the deaths of 3 people in 425-- two by jumping out of the way of gunfire so they hit each other, one by accidentally knocking over an unstable pile of cars. but sure, Jason's the one who can't handle it.)

anyway. all this just to say that if jason truly did not kill felipe but bruce believed he did and that leads directly to him feeling so unloved that he runs away to find his birth mom and yknow. gets murdered bc she sold him out bc, from his perspective, *she* also found him unlovable...

jason todd should have killed more people 🤷

#dc #text #like if youre gonna get blamed for it anyway. Why Fucking Not #anyway i keep thinking about bruce fucking shock collaring jason in gotham war to punish him for #having previously done Bad Things #so now bruce doesn't have to feel bad about it anymore #or worry jason will do it again #because he chemically lobotomized him. LMAO #meta #jason #mia #jason and mia

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gentrychild · 1 year ago

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I don't know why I'm always like *surprised pikachu face* when I see someone reading the same webtoons than me. Part of it is I somehow still think webtoons are very obscure which hadn't been the case for quite a while now.. Anyway!! Who's your favorite character in Nevermore? Do you have any theories about the plot/their deaths/etcetera? I fell into the rabbithole of Nevermore and I can't get out so I'm grabbing whoever I can find in this darkness.

*cracks knuckles*

You have come to the right place. Katydid and I have been theorizing about this webtoon and I do love finding innocent victims on which to dump my rambling.

I'm afraid that I am utterly predictable: my favorite character is Lenore. What's not to love about a smart MC who is loyal to their friends, has a complicated past, and is extremely good at improvisation?

But what I love about Nevermore is that all the characters are interesting. There isn't one character whose backstory I do not want to know.

Starting with those guys.

They are so full of secrets I just want to crack them open and see what spills out. It would probably be tentacles, though.

Now, unto the theories:

I have a headcanon that Lenore and Annabel didn't die together, that Lenore died fighting and clinging to life, and that she died thinking Annabel had betrayed her.

I think Annabel was killed by one of her suitors. (Probably the one that was supposed to marry her because Leo Vandernacht made an appearance.

Katydid and I have our fingers crossed for Lenore's specter form to be a phoenix.

I think that there will eventually be some kind of break out from the main cast and there will be a whole arc of them having to cross the wilderness filled with hungry ghosts and monsters in order to reach the portal to get back to the human world.

Since all the characters are from different time periods, I believe they will all show up in modern times at the end of the story.

I think any students who fail to graduate is/will be used as energy source for the school.

Now, unto the theory that is currently the dearest to my heart.

You see this handsome devil who appears in the very first chapter?

I am convinced that it's Theo.

#nevermore #nevermore asks #nevermore webtoon

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sunshine-burnt · 9 months ago

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I Do Not Like Your Hat

Summary: Dazai always did hate Chuya's hat.

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Some days, Dazai Osamu wished he was never born. Some days, Dazai Osamu wished he was dead. And some days, Dazai Osamu was okay with living.

This was not one of those days, though.

Dazai Osamu did have to admit that his days seemed to be getting brighter. No longer was he constantly hounded by the sins of his past nor was the tune of the suicide song playing in his mind. His desire to commit double suicide was slowly lessening (though his hunt for a beautiful maiden had yet to cease), and he did not find the arms of the river quite as comforting as before. Finally, to everyone's surprise, he had even started coming to work on time. Whether he was productive during the day was still up for debate, though. All in all, Dazai was seeing improvement.

It scared him.

Running, lying, fighting, that was all in his blood. And even if it was not there naturally, he had spent enough time being injected with violence and the need to die for his entire life. He was a criminal, a demon sent straight from hell, a monstrous sinner (and a lost child attempting to navigate adulthood). Dazai Osamu had no right to live, no right to happiness.

And today, these thoughts had driven him from work and family, from some foreign brightness back into the embrace of a not-so yet all too familiar darkness.

The alley he strode through brought him little peace, tortured screams echoing in his mind. Blood dripped from every nook and cranny, and if he ran his hand over the wall he would witness that non-existent crimson staining his palm. He saw bullets embed themselves into innocent, clean flesh. The air reeked of death, a friend Dazai could never leave behind.

So lost in thought, the brunette man missed a piece of a shared past and found himself stumbling into the wall. The brick was rough against his palms, and the uneven asphalt bit into his knees through his pants. He scowled, turning to catch sight of an accessory he had always hated.

It was that dumb slug's hat.

Dazai pushed himself against the wall, glaring at the pork pie as if it had personally offended him. The ugly, little hat stared right back at him, growing more and more unsightly as the silence stretched on. Disgust worked its way onto his face, memories of a certain red-haired man resurfacing. Damn that bastard. Why'd he have to leave that nasty thing right where he was going to be? What was the world scheming today? Well, whatever it was, he didn't like it. Still, something pulled him to his ex-partner's topper.

The world of yesterdays rushed over him, and he was left victim to the recollection of the days following Odasaku's death.

Mori Ogai was too much. Too violent, too deceitful, too cruel, etcetera, etcetera, the list went on infinitely. Well, not infinitely seeing as there were far too few words to describe that horrendous man. Osamu could see that clearly now. His escape to the 'good' side would soon be upon him, and he wished to take no remnants of his mafia days with him. Nothing other than the mark of death, of course. It was not as if he could wash himself of that branding so easily. What a pain fleeing the Port Mafia was going to be.

Snoring interrupted his thoughts, and his gaze was directed toward the slightly noisy man resting in his bed. It had been a long, hard week, and Dazai hadn't had it in him to kick out the slug, a change he hoped the other would never notice. Indeed, he had been getting softer and softer on his fiery partner as the months had passed, and when his rusty haired friend had left him, Osamu had been able to express his grief to him.

Nakahara Chuya continued to slumber peacefully, a rare treat for him.

A silent sigh slipped through his nose, and he resisted touching the man's calloused palms with his own, both drenched in unseen blood that was not stoppered at the wrist. He wondered, briefly, at telling Chuya, at convincing the other to come with him, at searching for forgiveness together. Death was also a heavy weight on the ginger's mind (Osamu knew this well enough after seeing him drink once a mission was finished). It could be nice, just the two of them, fulfilling Odasaku's wishes. Saving orphans, guiding the lost, all things that that strange man had been so good at, so devoted to. And maybe, just maybe, they could both be rescued, they could both find salvation.

Dazai Osamu was not an idealist, though.

Nakahara Chuya, his partner in crime, was just that. His partner in crime. He was bound to the Port Mafia, swathed in chains of brainwashed loyalty and threatened with praise. He was the organization's dog, always at Mori's beck and call, always eager to prove himself. The red-head's chance at freedom had been stolen from him years ago and, ironically, that damned thief was Dazai Osamu himself, the demon prodigy preparing to desert.

Osamu caught sight of an especially hideous item resting on the nightstand. The hat, a gift of Mori's, tempted the arsonist within him. He was already planning on feeding his coat to the flame, why not toss the slug's accessory too? He glowered at the pork pie, yet another bond that tethered Chuya to the organization. The stupid thing meant too much to his partner, a representation of the mafia claiming to be his home. And that dumb boy had accepted that dumb assertation. Dazai hated him for his choice, but it was not as if he could do anything.

He was, after all, the one at fault.

Nakahara Chuya knew something was off. The air of the penthouse was just barely saturated with something musty, something familiar. The smudge on the left most window seemed a little larger than it had been yesterday, and the softness of the carpet had been disturbed. The red head narrowed his eyes, pinpointing the wooden coffee table. Someone had been in his house. Chuya crept forward on silent feet, that eerie red glow, which signified his power, surrounding his lean figure. Carefully, he rounded the white couch and focused on the item left on the glossy surface.

His hat sat innocently before him, no sign of another's touch to be seen. A relieved sigh exited from his lips; he had been looking for the damn thing since sun down of yesterday. Chuya lifted the pork pie, eager to feel that comfortable weight on the crown of his head yet again when a small slip of paper fluttered out from the hat's opening. Curious, he picked up the note and opened it to read.

"For the dumb slug. I thought you couldn't go anywhere without your brain. -D.O."

Dammit, Dazai.

#BSD #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #dazai x chuuya #angst #character study #humorous ending

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justsomerandomfanfic · 1 year ago

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It Had To Be You - Peter (Noir) Parker X Female Reader

Title: It Had To Be You

Peter (Noir) Parker X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Aunt May (Mentioned), Peter B. Parker, Gwen, Miles (Mentioned), Miguel (Mentioned), and a random old man (Mentioned)

WC: 3,963

Warnings: Post Into The Spiderverse, Post Across The Spiderverse, Pre Beyond The Spiderverse, typical Spider-Man canon violence briefly mentioned, domestic as hell, brief mention to injuries, teasing, banter, flirting, crying, Nazis mentioned very briefly, sad goodbyes, shattered glass briefly mentioned (nothing bad), spiders, death mentioned, spider bites mentioned, angst, and fluff

You were humming to a song that was playing from your phone speaker, shaking your hips side to side with the beat as you stirred the soup on the stove. Today was a good day. You woke up on the right side of the bed - cuddled up next to the love of your life - and took a shower before starting to make soup for lunch. This was a typical Saturday for you and your long-time boyfriend. You had spent the entire morning watching Netflix with him, lounging around, and doing nothing at all; minus getting up to make Egg Creams, cook up a snack, etcetera.

Two arms slowly wrapped around your waist from behind, a stubbly face dipping down to nuzzle into your neck; making you giggle a little. You felt the cool rim of his glasses brush against you, little wisps of his hair tickling your cheek. You switched the stirring spoon into your other hand, now freeing your more dominant hand to raise and slide into his hair, fingers combing through his soft, dark locks. "Afternoon, handsome," You whispered, leaning back into his embrace. You turned slightly so that you could see his face; your lips brushing against his forehead. He pulled away to smile softly at you, his circle glasses slightly askew on his face before giving you a kiss on the lips. You returned it warmly, feeling the corners of your mouth tugging up into a grin. The kitchen was quiet except for the sounds of your music echoing throughout the room. Pulling back, you looked up at Peter, unable to stop the smile on your face as you just looked at him. He stole your breath away, every time, every day. From his strong jawline, the little dimples on the corners of his cheeks, the little wrinkles near his eyes... His hair was ruffled and messy from sleep; adorable. The way his skin glowed golden in the sunlight pouring in from the large windows on either side of the kitchen, illuminated his handsome features; breathtaking. Even the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at you, always lighting up like Christmas lights. That gorgeous smile... You couldn't look away. Your eyes were drawn to his. "Did you sleep well, Pete? Good nap?" You asked, voice soft as you glanced at the soup, returning to stirring it so it wouldn't burn.

"Best nap," He muttered, his own voice deep and a bit gruff, still trying to wake himself up fully. He gave you another kiss on the lips before turning you around in his arms to face the stove once more. His arms lay secured around your waist, his chin gently resting upon your head as he watched you cook the soup. "What have you been up to, doll?" He asked, pressing a light kiss onto the top of your head. Your hair smelled faintly of vanilla and pomegranate from the shampoo you used this morning.

"I’ve been doing some reading." You sighed happily, smiling over your shoulder at him. He could tell by how relaxed you were. "As always," You let out a small laugh, making Peter smile. "Oh! Could you taste-test this for me, please? I don't know if I should add more basil or not..." You asked the man, turning slightly in his hold to look up at him.

Reluctantly letting you go, Peter nodded as you turned and scooped up a bit of the warm soup on the wooden spoon. Softly blowing on it, you raised the spoon up to Peter's mouth, who obediently opened his mouth and let you feed him; your hand coming up under his chin to make sure nothing fell. The sweet, creamy taste of mushroom filled Peter's senses, making him hum as he closed his eyes happily. When he finally swallowed, he smiled down at you, watching as you stared up at him expectantly.

"So..?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"It's perfect, Y/N." He chuckled quietly, making your eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

You looked down at the soup on the stove, turning the dial to 'warm,' "It doesn't need anything?" You asked, turning back to look up at Peter who nodded. "Are you sure?"

"I am absolutely sure, doll, the soup tastes phenomenal." You looked up at him again, a flush coming to your cheeks, causing him to lean down to press a soft kiss to your burning cheek. "And it smells delicious as well," He added, making you smile.

"Well," You began, biting your bottom lip briefly as you gestured to the soap with a smirk, "Get a bowl before I eat it all then."

~~~

Sitting on the couch, you leaned your head against Peter's shoulder, watching some movie that you both were interested in. His arm draped loosely around your shoulders, holding you close to him. His free hand in his lap, he held onto a Rubik's Cube, half-finished; fiddling with it. Peter, normally, would've had his full attention on the TV screen, but every once in a while, he found his gaze being drawn to you. You were such a beautiful person. You were kind and gentle, thoughtful, and creative. There wasn't a single thing Peter didn't love about you. Peter loved you. You were his everything.

Five years ago, Peter was just minding his own business, working on taking down a corrupt politician, when he felt an odd sensation flow through him. His Spider-Senses activated, alerting him to danger, and that's when a very familiar portal popped up in his office, sucking him in.

He remembered falling, a searing pain coursing through him before he fell flat on his face in a rose garden. He didn't know how long he was out for, but when he opened his eyes, he groaned and sat up. Looking around, he found himself in a small yard, surrounded by flowers - slightly smashed from his landing - in what seemed to be the backyard of a small home. It reminded him a lot of Aunt May's. He finally realized that he must have jumped universes again. Since, unlike his world, he was seeing in all colors. No more grayscale. And though he was still having a bit of trouble recognizing most colors, he knew that the roses that he fell on were indeed the color red.

That's when you appeared, like an angel, immediately coming to the mysterious man's aid. You seemed not to question his attire, why he was in your backyard, nor his pale, grayscale face when you cleaned up a small rose thorn scratch on his cheek. From that moment, Peter knew that he was a goner. He was confused as to where he was, who you were, and why you were so calm and not scared by him; a man in a dark trenchcoat and fedora. He had just fallen into your backyard for crying out loud... How were you so calm?

Peter didn't have to wait long to get the answers to his questions. You answered everything. He was in New York, Queens, in your home, in the year 2023. You told him your name, which Peter repeated a few times in his head, in awe of you. That's when you asked Peter who he was, and he answered honestly. He was Peter Parker. He was Spider-Man. A small, sad smile had fallen upon your lips, as you listened to Peter explain his side of things; alternate dimensions, other Spider-Men and Women, villains, portals, everything. You listened to every word.

And that was the start of your friendship and later relationship.

Over time, Peter lost the urge to try and find a way back to his dimension. He had thought, just like last time, that his atoms would combust, but nothing happened. He was feeling fine physically and never glitched or combusted in the following days and even weeks to come. In the beginning, in the first few weeks, Peter tried all he could to find a way back, but nothing seemed to be working. No amount of books, research, or snooping around Oscorp and Alchemax helped. The misery that had befallen Peter was unbearable. He didn't want to give up, but there seemed to have been no way for him to get home. Peter had a rain cloud over his head, but you were the sunshine that broke through it and brought him back to life. You were the one who kept him going. You encouraged him to keep trying, to keep searching. You knew that he would find a way home.

But weeks turned into months, and months into years. And Peter forgot about his life in his universe once he fell in love with you. He had crippled his emotions for so long that he had almost forgotten how great it felt to be in love. And though he loved his universe, he loved you so much more. So, Peter made the choice to stay with you and had been staying with you for the past five years. And everything was like a dream.

~~~

"Peter, honey, are you alright?" You asked, snapping Peter out of his memories and daydreams, his eyes still on you.

Peter blinked, dropping his Rubik's Cube on his lap. He raised his hand to press it against his lips as he turned his head and cleared his throat. His pale cheeks tinted a deeper shade of light gray, which made you smile; that shade of gray had become one of your favorites. "I'm alright, doll," He answered, turning to face you once more, giving you a small, sheepish smile. "Just thinking."

“That’s dangerous,” You joked playfully, - earning an eye roll and grin - leaning towards him, you placed a soft kiss on his cheek. "About what?" You asked, admiring the man beside you.

Peter sighed softly, "The night we met," He answered, looking down at the Rubik's Cube. "And I was just thinking about you in general."

Your smile grew wider. Peter was so sweet to you. Sometimes you wondered if he even knew how sweet he really was. Sure, he said sweet things all the time, but sometimes he seemed too good to be true. How was he even real? Raising your hand, you gently slid the bridge of Peter's glasses up his nose with a finger, "I love you, Peter Parker," You whispered, leaning over until your foreheads touched. "More than anything in the world." Your eyes fluttered lightly as you waited for a response from him.

"I love you more, darling," Peter murmured back, resting his free hand on your waist as he pulled you closer. The sound of a soft knock interrupted the couple's moment, and you broke apart, both confused. "Were you expecting someone?" Peter asked, and you shook your head with a small, confused frown.

"No, I wasn't... You?" Peter shook his head slowly, rising from the couch and walking to the door, opening it cautiously; on high alert. Standing outside the doorway were none other than Peter B. Parker and Gwen.

Peter's eyes widened as he quickly let them in and shut the door, and you soon came around the corner, stopping at the sight of Spider-Man and the Spider-Woman. With a small frown, you moved your gaze from the two newcomers to your Peter. Fiddling with the way-too-big sleeves of Peter's gray, cable-knit sweater you wore, you stood next to Peter.

The two newcomers that you had assumed were Peter B. and Gwen, from the many stories your Peter would tell you about the fight with Doc Ock and Kingpin. They were staring at you with wide, shocked expressions on their faces.

"Um... Hello," You greeted awkwardly, waving your hand in the air briefly. "You must be Peter B. and Gwen." You continued, moving your glance to each of them respectively.

Peter B. then took a step forward, his eyebrows narrowed, "Sorry, but who are you?"

Your Peter slowly wrapped his arm around you, pulling you into his side, "This is Y/N, my girl... After I landed here a few years ago, she took me in and tried to help me get back to my own dimension..." He answered, his gaze never leaving yours as he spoke.

Peter B’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly, “A few years? How long have you been here?”

“And without glitching?” Gwen added, your eyes anxiously glanced from your Peter to the others, very confused.

"A little over five years," Your Peter answered, your arm coming up to wrap around his waist, fingers clutching onto the side of his black turtleneck sweater. “And that is still something that I have not quite put my finger on…” Peter muttered to himself, his eyes behind his circle frame narrowing slightly in thought.

Their jaws dropped, "Five years!?" Peter B. exclaimed, and you and your Peter nodded. “Time must work differently here…”

Gwen shook her head before she took a step forward, "We’ve searched for you in your dimension,” She spoke, lowering her white hood, “But you weren’t there… It took us a while to find you…”

“But we’ve found you, that’s all that matters.” Peter slightly interrupted, a look of determination on his face, “We need your help. Miles needs our help.”

You noticed your Peter’s expression darkened slightly, “What happened?”

You listened as Peter B. and Gwen expanded everything that had happened - the Spider Society, Miguel, Canon events, and so on - your confusion over everything seemed to lessen a bit; even when they brought up the clear time difference between your Earth-081962 and almost every other Earth dimension; which still confused you as to why your dimension was five years ahead of everyone else's.

“And with this device, we can help Miles,” Gwen gestured to the watch-looking object on her wrist, “And after, we can get you back to your own dimension.” Her voice held so much hope, you swallowed thickly as your mind raced.

Your Peter looked down at you, feeling your hand around him tighten slightly, but you didn't look up from the creme carpet. Peter was conflicted. The Peter a couple of years prior would've jumped at the opportunity to go back to his own universe, but now... Now all he wanted to do was stay here. With you. He couldn't bear the idea of being separated from you. "I need to speak with Y/N alone for a moment." He spoke up before leading you down the hall and into your shared room. "I'm not going to leave you." He spoke with conviction once you both entered the room, only for you to shake your head.

Quickly taking his hands in yours, you shook your head, "No, no, Pete, honey... You have to do this-"

He cut you off, shaking his head violently, "No, Y/N, please... I can't lose you." Peter pleaded, his eyes begging you not to make this decision for him. It broke your heart that he was willing to give up his chance to go home, to return to his own time. “I’ll come back to you after I help Miles.”

"Peter, you can go home! Back to your PI job and saving people from stupid Nazis." You tried to reason with him, tears starting to gather in your eyes, Peter's hands turning to hold yours, squeezing gently. “You can go home.”

"You're my home!" Peter countered, causing your breath to catch in your throat, tears streamed down your face. "You're my home, darling," His voice broke, but he held his ground. "I can't live without you." His eyes softened, but he remained firm. "Please, don't do this."

You let out a small sob, your shoulders shaking lightly. "Please... Peter..."

"I love you." With those words, Peter released your hands, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you tightly against his chest. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, gripping onto the back of his turtleneck sweater. For a minute, neither of you moved. Neither of you dared to move an inch. Neither of you dared to breathe. You both just held on tight.

You pushed your face into his chest, squeezing your eyes shut as you rubbed your cheek on the soft material of his sweater, "I love you more," You breathed out after a moment, sniffling, "But you have to go home after you save Miles."

"Y/N, darling-"

Pulling back, you moved your hands up to cup his stubbly cheeks, staring into those dark eyes that you loved so much. "I need you to go home." You stated, letting your thumbs brush away the stray tears on his cheeks; hating the words that were coming out of your mouth. "I've loved every single moment that I've got with you, Peter, but... But I need you to go home, honey."

Peter closed his eyes, letting his head drop to rest against yours. He let out a deep sigh before suddenly dipping his head down to capture your lips with his own. You gasped softly, returning his kiss, tears began to roll down your cheeks, mixing with the tears that were falling from Peter's. The kiss was gentle yet desperate, and it left both of you breathless, pulling away slowly. His lips pulled away reluctantly, leaving your lips feeling cold.

"Go save Miles, Peter." You muttered, pressing your forehead against his. Peter nodded slowly, tears filling his eyes. Giving you one last kiss, he slowly backed away from you, unable to break his gaze from you. "I'll see you some other time." You finished, your voice barely above a whisper.

At the door, Peter paused, bracing himself on the doorframe, "At least that's better than 'goodbye.'" He tried to joke, smiling weakly at you, but you could see how broken he looked, and you felt the same. He took a deep, shaky breath. "See you later, doll."

And then he was gone. You stood there, staring at the doorway, hearing muffled voices, the front door shutting... And then silence. Walking backward, you plopped down on the bed, staring at the wall. You took in a deep breath, letting a shaky breath out afterward. Your chest seemed to tighten, you felt as if your heart had stopped beating. You placed your hand over your chest, rubbing it gently. Closing your eyes and taking another deep breath, you focused on the feeling of your hand on your beating heart, but it all came crashing down. Tears erupted from your eyes, pouring down your face like a waterfall.

~~~

Walking down the street, you shuffled past the other busy people, either going home or heading to their late shift at work. You were heading home from yours. You had just recently been hired at some research facility - Alchemax - as an accounting assistant. You did want to try for a more scientific job, but they weren't hiring for that sort of position, overall, it was definitely keeping you busy. And you had to keep yourself busy, so you didn't think about Peter. It had been around six months since Peter left for his dimension, and you'd lost count of how many times you'd thought about him. How many times have you thought about him when you woke up at night, half your mind thinking he was right there beside you in bed? Every time you subconsciously began to make Egg Creams, only to realize you had no one to share them with. And every time you heard a song on the radio that reminded you of him, you felt yourself unwilling to finish the day's chores. Every hour that went by felt like an eternity.

But your job was good, paid well, better than the last one that you had when Peter was with you. You were pretty curious about the research the facility was even doing, they were secretive about it. You didn't ask questions, you followed orders and made sure the numbers were all lining up correctly, but you still wondered. However, before your mind could theorize whatever could be happening, you felt someone run into you.

You fell to the concrete sidewalk with a small 'oof,' looking up to see an old man in front of you; also on the sidewalk. Getting over the initial shock, you looked around, seeing what looked to be shards of glass on the ground around you and the man. Before you could say anything, the man went into a panic, looking around the ground frantically. Suddenly, he got to his feet, running off.

You let out a huff, pushing yourself to your feet and brushing off your legs. Thankfully, no glass had harmed you. Letting out a sigh from your nose, you headed back down the sidewalk, ignoring the burning sensation on the back of your head from the slight embarrassment you had gone through.

Once you finally made it home, you quickly got inside and shut the door; locking it. Toeing off your shoes, you kicked them to the side before dragging your feet to your bedroom to get out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable; exhausted after the long day. Tossing your bag on the bed, you riffled through your closet, finding a pair of gray sweats - that were definitely not Peter’s - and fuzzy socks. Trying to find a comfy top that you felt like wearing, your hand paused on one. The gray, cable-knit sweater, one of Peter's sweaters; your favorite one. Without a second thought, you pulled it over your head, your hair becoming a bit frazzled in the process. Pulling the collar up, you took in a deep breath, only to frown. It had already lost his scent. The accords of lavender and mandarin, the hint of sandalwood.

Walking back into your bed, you sat down, still clutching the sweater tightly in your hands. Looking down at the piece of clothing, you sighed. You loved the sweater. It was way too big for you, the sleeves passing your fingers by more than an inch, the hem reaching around mid-thigh. But you couldn't stop missing the smell of Peter's cologne that was embedded in the fabric. And you’d ever smell it again.

You laid back on your bed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it tightly to your chest. Shutting your eyes, you let out a sigh. You were about to get up and make yourself some dinner, but then you paused. Frozen, you felt something small crawling on you. Immediately, you jumped up, feeling the tickling crawling start to wander down your arm. Quickly, scrambling to pull up your sleeve, you watched as a small, red spider crawled up your arm and onto your hand, and before you could do anything, you felt a sharp sting.

You yelped in pain, hitting the spider off of you, and pulling your hand to your chest. Staring intently at the small spider on the ground, it was all curled up; dead. Letting out a deep breath, you jiggled around a bit, creeped out from the feeling of the spider running along your body. Sitting back down, you planned to take care of the spider after checking your hand. Pulling your arm back, you looked at your hand. Raising it up in front of you, you winced slightly at the sight of a large red bump on the middle of the back of your hand. It looked terrible…

Feeling a bit odd, you blinked repeatedly. Bringing another hand up, you held your head as a huge migraine began to form behind your eyes; your mind foggy. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to calm down. Shaking your head lightly, you squeezed your eyes shut, a ringing starting to sound in your ears. You could feel the headache growing, burning. Then you opened your eyes, suddenly becoming very aware of everything around you. And then... Everything stopped.

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treecut-place · 2 months ago

Note

Just gonna leave a few requests here, I’m fine with waiting for them

I’d love to see

Leafpool x Hollyleaf

Leafpool x Jayfeather

Leafpool x Lionblaze

That’ll be it for now

Oh hey I like leafholly :3

No warrior name since they came out looking pretty apprentice aged, but a few names I could think up for them would be Juniperskip, Juniperbranch, Juniperleaf (now they're all leaves..), Junipershine, Junipershade, Juniperheart.............

Also uhh *looks at the date of the last Everything* long time no see huh. I did not forget but Damn did Things Happen

To anyone wondering I/we're doing fine! While this blog has been put off on somewhat of an unofficial hiatus, list of things that have occured to the entity running this includes: quietly left the general wc fandom (I'm still into it it's just... the fandom........ scary), deleted outlook-rock, got into rain code, experienced ego death, became a big boy rain code blogger, turned out to be fictionkin, the nefarious personality disorder came (or was there all the time but I ignored it lmao), turned out to be a system, on all levels except physical is most likely not the same person(s) yall know from the early 20s wc profic resurgence but there's lots of memories of it, got into akuma kun, got into a bunch of shit actually, acquired cool mutuals, healed from the horrific trauma of being called a ribosome at wattpad, got even more queer uhhhh etcetera etcetera basically life went on at least for me

But aughhhh I kinda miss the profic wc fandom. It feels like just less and less people are really posting anything, and I don't really know exactly how much the general tumblr fandom has shifted but from what I can gather it's still heavily leaning into the more anti side as usual. But ever since I kinda branched out more, I feel way safer and just. Better. Than when I was just mainly posting cats

But yeah, uh!! Yomi (one of our Guys. proooobably was around in our wc days? can recall most people we sorta got to know back then) has actually recently made a wc sideblog, @/snakerocks! He's the only one that plans on posting abt cats in the near future, and while it's mainly his some others are also allowed to occassionally also post on it as guests lol. The blog is private so it doesn't come up in search results (unless you type it all the way) so he doesn't have to worry about fuckwads getting pissy about whatever he posts like they use to on public blogs. Sooo if ur enchanted with our wcposting you can go follow and ask him whatever, shipping or character or au/rewrite wise or whatever, no matter how random................ So yeah!

Anyway concerning this blog: I definitely won't delete it, I may continue to just post on and off whenever I feel like it, maybe it's gonna be slow and rare as always, maybe i'll get a sudden burst of kitty inspiration and get more active, I dunno.

I hope you all are doing well, whatever you are doing now <33

- ashley & Yomi

#ask #hypokits #leafholly #proficwarriorcats

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 1 year ago

Text

Sorry, Wrong Comms! : Hunter x Medic!Reader [Chapter 3]

Warnings & Information: Intended audience is 13+ (18 if you squint). Slightly heavier material. Real-life and Star Wars swearing. We're pretending we understand how both real-life and (the regulations of) Star Wars medicine works. Lol what's the layout of the Havoc Marauder anyways? Fuck it, we vibe. ✌️❤️ Injuries as a result of an explosive device during a secret mission. Uh oh, no surgical gloves (for drama, please use gloves whenever possible in real emergencies)! Mentions of blood and blood loss. Lots of medical paraphernalia: needles/autoinjectors, stitches, bacta, etcetera. Near death. Vague description of nausea and non-descriptive mentions of vomit. Loth-cat is out of the bag thanks to Wrecker once our brave Medic!Reader saves the day. Chapter gets happier/light-hearted towards the end as an apology. As a reminder: we really like italics in this house + doing my best not to be overboard with the Mando’a.

Tryin' real hard to avoid certain fanon characterizations of the Batchers. This whole series is absolutely RIFE with my personal headcanons.

Word-count: 7,761

The enjoyable breakfast at the Batchers' was a week ago. Strange how so much and so little can happen all within a week.

Between her decision to get recertified for battlefield medicine at Tech and Echo's encouragement - it would allow her to move through areas of Imperial control with little impediment with her documentation dated before the inevitable regulation tightening that would trickle down to independent medical facilities and practices - and a mission that an "old friend from… before" of the Batch requested their unique skill sets for, the seven friends had not seen or contacted the other in any capacity since that day.

Once in the morning when [____] had stepped away from the bottom of the short stack of stairs leading from their front door and wished everyone a good day. Twice in the afternoon to first announce she'd passed the earliest available crunch-test for recertification she'd signed up for around the dining table with Echo's help, then a second time to say she'd bought a private medical vessel after going over some specs with the recertification board regarding her own skill sets. She'd need a starship of some sort if she was going to reregister to be an independently-aligned battlefield medic.

One of Omega's newest drawings had been sent home with the medic at the youngster's insistence. A creature she called an Aiwha breaching the waves, and a doodle of Lula in the bottom left corner sitting in a flotation ring on the surface. It now sat taped to the door of the tiny cold unit in the snug kitchenette aboard the medical vessel. The first splashes of organic, cheerful color beyond the sterility of white and the ominosity of red that covered the interior.

[____] had decided that she'd close her clinic for the day and take the new craft on its maiden flight; get a feel for the controls, get a sense of how to navigate… him? her? … through the endless starfield of the galaxy this morning. Now getting closer to lunch, she'd originally decided she'd have a quick bite to eat, until a harsh screech of her comms sent the spoonful of warm stew across the little kitchenette table in a violent cough. Maker, what a mess.

"Captain Rex! Rex, come in! Where are you?! Hunter's been hurt, he-! Shit! We have to fall back!" That was Echo. He sounded so scared over the comms channel. What happened to make such a brave and courageous man sound like a scared child calling for his parents like a monster was about to get him?

She hit the button to answer the comms before she had a solid plan to answer it. "Echo? What's going on? What happened?"

Someone swore before Echo replied, his voice high and tight. "[__-]! Sorry, wrong comms! Disregar-!"

Like kriff she could. It wasn't just her duty to the insignia of the shattered cross, but a desire to jump in hearing a friend needed help. "No-no; what happened, Echo! What happened to Hunter?"

"He's been hurt, we have to fall back and get him to a medic on-!"

"I'M a medic, Echo!" she reminded him sharply, poking her head around the corner of the onboard kitchen unit to look out the viewport of her little medical ship. "Get to my ship! I'm gonna send you my position; if I'm reading this correctly you're… actually not too far from me?"

The screaming… Maker, the screaming. She could hear him just as the ships were properly attached to allow cross-boarding. Pure, primal agony. She had to hurry up the ladder with a heavy medbag. She didn't apologize when she shoulder-checked Wrecker with all her weight when she found her feet again as he yanked her up the last seven rungs by the back of her suit like a damn Loth-cat's kitten, he could take that kind of punishment without being phased. She had to get to Hunter. Rivers of sweat forged wiggling, jagged and forking lines through the grime and soot caking his half-tattooed face. His bandanna was missing. He'd been wrenched out of most of his ruined, ash-black plastoid armor and left in the bloodied tatters of his skin-tight black bodyglove beneath. Where the blood was coming from only the Maker could have known right now. That would be a headache and a half to scrub out of the thin mattress of the med cot, later. "What in the karking hells…" It looked bad. So very bad. Caught too close to a detonation? She'd seen everything from shredded muscle and bone when she had worked at a large-scale healing center ages ago to deep blaster-burn and blood in every color of the rainbow after a cantina fight in the spaceport as of just yesterday, but this… this was something that made her stomach twist so violently in her fear she was sweeping the room for a spare container just in case.

While not a wet behind the ears nurse, she felt that ancient-to-her overwhelming panic and dread to her very marrow. When someone screamed like this, it was just a matter of time before the far more frightening, chilling silence that came before the end. Before the cardiac crash. The flatline. A funeral. Hunter didn't have much time and she just looked like she was hesitating. She was analyzing as she forced down her feelings and stomach with a heavy swallow. What would he need? Sutures, stim packs, maybe all the bacta-gel and every last patch she had… and a damn miracle.

She needed to send some people out first. Calling out above the clamoring, crying sergeant on the med cot below her, she started giving orders. "Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech, you stay here. Echo, take Omega out of the medbay. Get his bunk scrubbed clean as you can. I need as few people in the room as possible. Now." Echo obediently hustled Omega away with a firm grip around her upper arm just under the armpit, forcing himself to become deaf to the protests and tears. (If it came down to it, Echo was not going to be able to perform CPR very effectively; something he and the medic were painfully aware of after a nightmare of Echo's some time ago.) It was an incredible kindness to not make his sister watch Hunter's suffering. It'd haunt the girl to no end if she didn't- no! No, she wouldn't lose him!

"Wrecker." The hulking Clone snapped to attention, and [____] hated how she was giving her friends orders like this, how she was treating these men like… like soldiers. That's what we are, burc'ya one of them had once said, but it doesn't take away how much she hated it.

How much she had initially, strangely, hated it when they spoke to her in their own version of Mando'a and the scraps of other languages beyond Basic they picked up during the Clone Wars and their service with the GAR and little phrases from the native tongues of the Force-wielding Jedi. What she would give to hear it now… something other than the sounds of agony. The threat of tears in her voice.

"I-I need you to hold your brother down while I give him the stim packs, Wrecker. Do not hurt him, h-he probably doesn't k-know-" Her words threatened to shatter unprofessionally before the stiff crack of skin on skin. Not now. She couldn't fucking cry right now. Hunter needed her! Taking a second, she tried again, voice much more level and clear with the encouraging sting of her own palm burning her cheek. "He doesn't know anything beyond his instincts and deepest memories to save himself right now, most likely. He might think we're trying to kill him. Especially me because I won't have my helmet on." She'd actually left her specialty-helmet back in her starcraft. She hadn't yet calibrated the thing and all its sensitive scanners that cost her a pretty credit.

"What's that got to do with it?" Tech demanded, failing to notice she didn't even have the damn thing. He never liked not knowing what was going on. There was no time to explain as the equipment screens the medic was turning on and had applied the appropriate sensors to Hunter's body signaled he was close to crashing if she didn't act fast. "Just do what I say: put on your helmets. Wrecker, hold him down exactly where I say. Cross, hold these." Prepping the autoinjectors she'd need, she handed several to the marksman, grateful for his long fingers to keep them all secure as she freed her bandage forceps and the trauma shears from the medpack to cut away more of the ruined upper half of the bodyglove. The sour tang of metal and soot would take forever to scrub out of her nails, cursing as she realized she hadn't restocked her gloves. She'd have to get her hands dirty, and the thighs of her pants would have to serve as the blood-rag in this dire situation. Thank the stars she'd washed her hands prior to boarding the Havoc Marauder and curse the Maker for forgetting to restock such a crucial item like gloves. What a rookie mistake!

She pointed Tech into the farthest corner where he could see this delicate dance against death. "Tech: take notes and shut up. Blue: Emptying. Amber: Emptying. Cross, give me the red, then-" Hunter's chest buckled violently in a too-shallow rhythm under her palms, the lip-wrenching that bore his teeth with every harrowed, feral, bellowing call he was making through all this pain was frightening being that-much closer now. The heart-rate monitor screamed in warning: too high, the possible final hill before the plummet. "Red then the gold! That order is very important!" If she got the order wrong, it would kill him. She wouldn't tell Crosshair that. Not until later. Or ever. "Gold: Emptying! Good! Wrecker, hold his legs, Cross, his head. I’m checking for concussion if I can." If Hunter didn't clock her with a wild, frenzied swing. If they held him down entirely, he would only thrash all the more violently and with all the strength he didn't have, pain receptors long since shot and driven beyond overwhelmed. He'd been cursed with enhanced senses he could never take a break from, never mind whatever standard alterations Clones of this late Jango Fett have. "Tech: no concussion. Previously administered meds should be taking hold soon. Prepping a subcutaneous needle with a weaker sedative. Dosage: two hundred twelve, blue. Wrecker: strap his legs and hips down."

"Ti-tight?" the gentle, boyish giant timidly dared ask through the modulator, dark visor meeting the naked eyes of the medic just when Hunter's screams began to slow, but not the struggling. The monitors blipped rapidly for just a short moment, making Wrecker panic in the pause from the medic as she considered. "For now."

"'Kay. Whu' then?"

"Go comfort your sister." Wrecker was hitting his breaking point of being a useful, calm assistant to the freshly recertified field medic. He set the restraints with a tight-voiced "I'm sorry, vod." before he ducked out of the medbay, shucking the plastoid bell over his head with a quavering breath. (Omega might soon be comforting him as much as he was meant to be comforting her.) She'd now have to count on the callous but not uncaring marksman and the over-explaining navigator who was taking his silence seriously if reluctantly. "Cross: I need you to mind his arms for me. He's not going to like this." Hunter had now stopped bellowing, all these drugs dropping him in a delicate, subdued state. Nothing like two sedatives and the strongest painkiller she dared use in the cocktail of stim packs she administered, the monitors telling her in entirely-too-many numbers to the untrained eye that Hunter was stabilizing. Vitals are still elevated and too rapid, but falling at an appropriate speed. If they fell too fast…

Taking his position, Cross did as instructed, putting each hand firmly around Hunter's flexing, jerky wrists. "Yes ma'am."

"I'm sorry, Hunter." [____] offered fruitlessly, finally speaking to him rather than around him all while gingerly blotting a damp rag around a weeping wound to start stitching his largest laceration first to accelerate the closure before the bacta-gel was applied. "Hang in there, okay? I'm sorry for-" she pierced the lip of ragged, bloody flesh without warning him, if Hunter could even tell what she was saying, "-this." she finished. He heaved a guttural, strangled call of pain, instinctively attempting to wrest his hands from Crosshair's grip and shove [____] away before she jumped back out of reach, twisting and turning his legs in vain under the restraints. "...Nfg! St- … guhm!"

She steeled her resolve quickly and came back to the bedside, eyes flicking to the cardiac reading. High. "I know Hunter: this is not fun for anyone." [____] promised him, treating the stilted, choked gibberish as proper communication while pulling the threaded needle steadily. Maybe it'd help keep him calm. Just keep talking to him, add in directions to the others as needed. "Hunter, Crosshair is going to hold your arms really really still for a little while, okay? I'm going as fast and as carefully as I can to get you stitched up. Is the pain starting to feel less noticeable since the first stim shot?" That should have been recorded as the painkiller if Tech had peeked at the multiple stim pack and autoinjectors she'd simply dropped to the floor haphazardly once dispensed into unmarred patches of skin between abused flesh and muscle underneath the top half of the one-piece blacks she cut from Hunter's battered body to apply the thin gel-padded sensors. There was no response beyond ragged, harsh inhales and shallow exhales. "That's okay, sweetie," she promised as she fastened off the suture, hushing him tenderly as she painted a thick layer of viscous bacta-gel over the stitching with her first two fingers of her opposite hand, "if not, hopefully it will soon. Here, Cross can move his hands up to your left shoulder now and I can stitch this laceration up next. I'll be gentle, as I can be, I promise. Does this hurt?" She palpated the edge of his injury with the pad of her thumb, wondering if he could even make out such a sensation with everything else his nervous system had been assaulted with.

There was a stifled "en" sort of sound beneath the tight brow-bunching, the best could be done to muster up a "no" if one had to guess. "No?" Forced past pale, slightly bluish lips, Hunter tried with further effort. "N-uhh…" He was going to hurt himself if wasn't stopped quickly and gently. Oh Maker he'd really need some blood… dammit she should have gotten that set up to begin with, another kriffing rookie mistake! "Okay-okay; good - I think that's the stim shot working, then! That's what we want. Thank the Maker. Here, let's try something while I'm working on this in the meantime. Can you hold your breath for me?" A breathing exercise. Make the other readings on the monitor slow down, if she could. Better, but still too elevated for her liking. Hunter's chest spasmed with the effort, indicating that wasn't quite possible. "Easy, buddy, easy… Let's try a slow deep breath instead."

"Nu-hu- I-" It was a spasm in his stomach this time, strong enough she feared the stitches were about to tear torn flesh further, before she understood what was making his body react like this. Nausea. Hunter always had a uniquely sensitive stomach but was in no state or opportunity to soldier through the urgent nausea like any ordinary time. She tore at the emergency release latches to the restraint-leashes on his legs and hips, Cross guiding his brother and leader onto his side so Hunter could safely be sick off the side of the med cot without aspirating on the foul substance if he remained on his back.

Tech broke out of his corner and his silence where he'd been banished with his datapad to assist with the mess coating [____]'s new field-boots and the paneled floor of the Marauder's medbay. He sounded almost offended and childish over the mic and modulator of his unique, non-standard bucket. "Kriff! Gross!"

"Better than the alternative, Tech." the doctor simply chided the pilot, "and nothing any pair of my boots haven't seen before. Just these girls' first time. Crosshair can you grab a hydropack or something? Once he's sure he's in the clear he'll want to rinse the bile out of his mouth." She saw the sniper's throat bob stiffly, once, three times, before speaking in a distant, strained voice to mask the muted retching.

"Sure." Crosshair was all too happy to avoid becoming patient number two if he lingered here much longer when the doctor glanced down at her boots and remarked that she likes the blue travel-ration bars best as well, to no one in particular.

She stayed aboard the Marauder to monitor Hunter's vitals and had tenderly cleaned the soot and sweat from his face for good measure, musing to herself that Tech was probably messing around with her control panel of her (yet-unnamed) ship in the pretense of optimizing and calibrating your systems to better suit your occupation and skill set right about now while following after them in the hyperspace lane while she was busy with counting each inhale from the man across the medbay within a minute on the timer ticking away. Once the minute elapsed, she'd let Omega come in and see Hunter for herself. [____] noted how her head rung with the first hints of a building headache and the tugging ache in her throat; she'd had her ears uncovered the whole time Hunter had bellowed in horrid pain while she granted his brothers a barrier of comfort and emotional anonymity beneath their painted helms and dark visors, and had no mic to amplify the voice that instructed them how to assist her. But she felt that the unmodulated waves of comfort would mean so much more to him and prove helpful if he could hear a voice unaffected by a helmet crooning comfort to him.

The minute elapsed. Fourteen breaths. She made a note of it in the log that Tech had been keeping for her and moved to let everyone know that Omega could be summoned now to finally go see her brother. Wrecker was the only one [____] could immediately find outside the medbay. "Hey Wreck, where's Omega? She'll want to know she can finally go see her vod - but he's asleep, I think."

"Awh, she's either in the gunner's mount, or in Tech's seat in the cockpit now, I think? Crosshair went to take a long wash cycle in the 'fresher, and Echo's still getting Hunter's bunk reset. 'E's gonna be okay, righ'?"

She looked over her shoulder back into the tiny little medbay on the shuttle, nodding. "He's been stabilized. He'll need to come to my clinic for a full work-up and blood transfusion just to make sure that he really will be fine with proper time and rest." She tore her gaze away, the sight of Hunter's handsome face so slack in his exhaustion making her heart clench. The brute of a Clone with a boyish sense of humor just gave a quiet bark of laughter, arms looping around his chest much tighter without the shells of his various pieces of armor encircling him, stripped down to his black bodyglove at least above-belt. "HAH! Good luck with tha' for the rest of us… but, he'd probably listen to you, kid. Hunter likes you quite a lot… Has a lot of respect for you."

"Oh," [____] mused in agreement, a touched smile breaking free easily, "yeah, he's told me."

Wrecker looked so dumbfounded, sitting forward and arms unlocking in a surprised stupor. "H-he has?"

"Well yeah; Hunter's expressed his appreciation each and every time I've helped one of you guys, you know that, Wreck."

He looked more dumbfounded if possible, that mismatched gaze of melt-worthy brown and stark silver-white widening with a realization that his friend didn't know what he was alluding to. "I-I meant two separate things, ad'ika. M'sorry, I forgot a "and", and it- You don't know he likes you?"

It was now [____] who was dumbfounded, the implications just beginning to sink in. "Likes me, wha-? Wrecker hold on; you mean he likes me in the sense that he might love me?"

"If he doesn't, it sure looks that way!" Wrecker boomed, immediately flinching over the volume of his own voice above a breathy, soft volume. "Oops… Oh I hope I didn't wake 'im. I-I-I thought you knew after that night Crosshair suggested that Hunter accidentally hailed you an' then invited you to come over to our place and took care of your injuries an'-" Wrecker stopped and sucked in a hard, short breath just as his voice became loud again, hearing Omega scrambling down to the tiny medbay. "Cross said he'd heard you were… well first he'd believed you'd had, um, y'know, because he heard you moanin' an' all but- i-it wasn't that! I know now that Crosshair was just making a dirty joke, an' I know it was just a massage, but I… I-I-I thought maybe Hunter had finally gotten his nerves and told you." Wrecker was bouncing between the immature nervousness of a child who was afraid to admit knowing what sex was and the grown-up, prideful tones of recounting a coming-of-age tale. Wrecker was not stupid. Wrecker was not naive.

And Wrecker was so much more. Gentle-hearted but strong and dependable. Kind, tender and guarded when he could have been rough and uncareful of his strength with his enhanced Clone brothers or the 'Regs'. Wrecker could dislocate a Seppy's shoulder or rip apart a clanker with frightening ease and then use that same hand in the next breath to scoop a fallen, injured comrade from the rubble like he once often held his beloved Lula in his sleep. (He once boasted to Crosshair, according to Tech that "Clankers fear me, women want me!" for… some reason back in the days of the Clone Wars. He hadn't been sure what the friendly competition was on that particular mission beyond how many copper-tops they would lay waste to.) These days, he had been loaning Lula to his sister; while Lula was so important to Wrecker, he selflessly shared most of his scant possessions with his family. So it was no surprise to the medic to find Lula swaddled in Omega's arms when she approached brother and friend. "Hey, Omega…" [____] called to the young Kamino-born girl with a maternal tone, "come to see how your vod is doing? He's resting right now, likely asleep, but you're welcome to go see him now if you want."

"I'm not sure if I…" Omega stalled, 'want to see him in that state' or 'can go in there' was likely what the little girl wanted to tell the medic, but she only crushed the Tooka doll tighter to her chest with a wave of silence falling over her. "He's going to be okay, Omega, I made sure of it." [____] offered a placation of Omega's worries, silencing a beep of her datapad without even removing it from her belt clip or looking at it. "I can't be too far from him anyways, just on the off-chance those drugs I give him don't play so nicely with his stomach again. Why don't you come back to the medbay with me and see for yourself if my stitches are nice and even while I'm taking his pulse?" She held a beckoning hand toward Omega, a silent offer to comfort her and take her to the medbay.

One could have practically seen Wrecker's heart swelling in his chest as he watched his sister step forward with a timid "...okay." and lace her fingers with the medic's, careful not to bite into flesh with her nails in the nervous strength of her hold. "It's okay to be scared, sweetie. I'm right here with you." [____] promised, leading her back. She'd already covered the equipment screens and dimmed more of the lights, just since the sergeant was so heavily sedated it was more of a medical twilight sleep that he had the potential to wake from at any given moment. His sister took up position by his bedside, studying his tattooed face and the bandages she could see poking out from under a light medbay blanket.

"Hunter's…" Omega whispered, noting how deliberate the medic was to move quietly through the medbay. "... sleeping? Can he hear me?" She probably wanted to sit and talk either to [____] while she watched Hunter, or tune out the medic and talk to her brother. Let him know, if he could hear her, that he was going to be okay. They'd be back home soon. They'd be taking him to [____]'s clinic and she would make sure everything was taken care of. And that there was no reason to be scared. Returning the sentiment once said to her.

Maker and all the stars in the galaxy… these six Clones had a way of warming her heart. "Kind of sleeping. He's pretty sedated so he doesn't tear his stitching. It's okay if you want to talk to him, just mind your voice of course, sweetie." [____] promised Omega, laying a light hand on the girl's shoulder.

The medic busied herself with cleaning up the data log or padding it out with information for the next half hour while glancing over the sibling pair every few minutes, making sure she kept a proper eye on her emergency patient and the sister when the young girl was quiet for a few minutes every now and then. "... I was scared I was going to lose you, Hunter…" was a soft whimper nearly-missed under the sound of footfall as Echo joined the three of them in the medbay, a modified datapad strapped to the trooper's scomplink.

(Tech really loved tinkering around with their equipment.)

There was a ping and accompanying message icon on the medic's HUD. Clever man.

Doing okay, kid?

>Ask me when the cross is off.

Right, bad question. Still on the job.

Echo offered an apologetic smile over the top of his datapad to her, mouthing something that contained the word habits.

So… Wrecker told me what happened before he was sent out. Just finished talking to Cross in the cockpit about it, too. Sounds like it was pretty messy.

>It was. But Hunter's going to be fine, Echo.

No sense mincing words when there was a heavy cloud of strong antiseptic aroma hanging in the air.

>You guys will want to scrub out the cot in here within an inch of its life.

Careful, burc'ya. Tech may take those instructions literally.

They chuckled softly over his joke together. She didn't doubt his brother's words. Outside of those she studied with in medical school, Tech was probably the most fastidious individual she could think of when it came to maintaining a sterile environment in the best of times. Something they weren't afforded this go-around, but in all honesty Hunter's chances of infection were fairly minimal due to the regular upkeep of sterility in the attack shuttle's small "sick-storage". In the medic's previous experience, that wasn't typically exercised by the usual sort who utilized these ships; but time and time again all six members of this "Bad Batch" proved they were a far cry from usual, she had to remind herself.

>You'll probably have to air out the Marauder after he's gone through a ridiculous amount of antiseptic wipes and cleaners.

Oh, there's no "probably" about that… That's a guarantee. We'll be lucky if it's just the medbay.

The medic froze before she sent a return message, seeing a hitch in Hunter's throat as he stirred. His sister just took his hand softly, rubbing a circle into the knuckle of his thumb soothingly. "Shhh… That's just [____] and Echo "talking" in the background; all those beeps are their datapads," Omega chimed in softly as there was a second very brief stir from Hunter, "It's okay… you can keep sleeping. Won't be too much longer until we're home, I think…"

Wrecker's told me something else, by the way. That he let a "particular secret" out in his words.

>Yeah. Wrecker did.

He told me what he told you. Sorry: didn't mean to make that look like I was prying for information. And, sorry if that was rather… surprising to hear.

>It's… certainly something to think about.

The medic laid down the datapad for just a moment and signaled Echo to wait just a moment, lifting the cloth she'd dropped over the bright screen of some equipment to check the vitals it was set to monitor. Pulse-OX, BP, heart rate. All looked about the same as the last time she checked.

"Entering upper atmo..." Crosshair mused over the PA of the Marauder, breaking the silence of the ship in a voice bordering on boredom, "We'll be there shortly, suggest everyone get ready to leave for the clinic as soon as we land." No, not boredom. Carefully measured impatience as he was fond of saying. This was their vod who took care of everyone at his own expense (monetarily and otherwise), sacrifice, and personal comforts. It had been quite a long time since Hunter had been hurt so severely that he had everyone scared they'd lose him. Perhaps the last time had been during the Clone Wars. No one could really tell her for sure, but they were sure Tech would be able to give her a little too much detail from something in his records, Omega mentioned offhandedly as [____] updated her data log with the current readings from the diagnostic equipment.

"Don't be afraid to tell him to shut up again," Echo offered with a muted smile and choked laugh, now verbally referencing he's heard about the medic's further directives in his absence from Cross's recollection of events, "You know how he'll ramble your ear off at your clinic when he's trying to mask his fear of something. After what's just happened, he'll probably go blue in the face before he stops."

"Still can't believe 'e actually listened," Wrecker called from outside the medbay, wrestling past Gonky with a wide crate of something in the crook of his arm, "Techie usually talks your ear off when he's nervous at your clinic."

"I jus-" Echo started, ready to tell Wrecker he'd just told [_____] that same sentiment, but fell silent when a hand touched his shoulder softly, hushing him with a silent 'it's okay, Echo' when Hunter stirred a third time for just a moment. They were entering the atmosphere, mercifully he stayed asleep as the ship trembled and bounced through the transitional zone. "You call him Techie?"

Wrecker balked, almost dropping the crate. "Awh kriff, don't tell him I called him tha'!"

"I won't," the woman promised, carefully tucking back a loose lock of her hair, "I just thought it was sweet. You guys really care about one another. We should wake him just before we land since we'll need to find a way to hurry him to my clinic: would you like to do that, Omega?"

His sister nodded earnestly at the proposed task, anxious to have some part in preparation to land in the shipyards. "I've got this." Omega promised. "Just say when."

They landed in the shipyards at the height of lunch-rush, which made both Tech and the medic nervous. Tech, always prepared, had a map of the city loaded up on the screen, the fastest route highlighted in yellow when he met the others at the ramp to the Marauder. "Oh dear… there's going to be a lot of foot traffic between here and the clini-"

"I got this." Wrecker growled confidently, giving Omega a wicked grin as he held out his helmet to her. [____] was about to protest, worried that Wrecker carrying Hunter would injure him, and Hunter, half-awake in a rescue carry, shrunk back against Crosshair's chest. But as soon as his helmet was secured with Omega, Wrecker broke off from the Batch and the medic in a dead sprint at a speed that would not seem possible for someone his size to anyone unaware. People shrieked in fright as the demo-expert charged at breakneck speeds. "MOVE IT! MEDIC COMING THROUGH!"

Maker have mercy on anyone who didn't get out of his way in time… they'd have to go to another clinic if he toppled anyone over. "Oh boy… better follow after him." Echo groaned, knowing that he'd be best to tail after Wrecker and make sure he was going the right way, or apologize to anyone along the way.

"Ah," Tech marveled, taking the rear as everyone else followed behind Wrecker, watching his brothers' blips on the datapad for just a moment. "That's… one way to do it. But why is he going the way that would take us past our housing?"

"There's a theoretical shortcut Wreck and I have wondered about," Cross muttered, doing a visual sweep for something before walking just slightly ahead of the stoop of their housing, "hmm. Big guy actually did it." He sounded… rather proud of Wrecker's destructive capabilities. A fence across the mouth to a narrow alleyway had been run down, and from Tech's map, it cut across the horseshoe-structured street from their housing to her clinic by a significant amount. The fence's twin at the far end had been trampled, too. "Come on. After you, doc. Tech, why don't you drop off some of our gear at home and meet us there?"

"Certainly. Omega, come with me." Tech gingerly unclipped one end of the strap holding the Firepuncher against Crosshair's back and carried it out in front of him, afraid to touch it because he was afraid to drop it. That rifle was Cross's pride and joy, his baby, even. But the less weapons they carried into the clinic the better, understanding that the way Wrecker could still be bellowing to alert people to get out of their way, they'd be drawing a lot more additional attention if they went in with a scared medic armed to the teeth. Negative attention.

Hopefully his brothers wouldn't have broken down the clinic's doors and remembered to use their emergency key card once he got there, Crosshair thought to himself, stepping deftly after the doctor as she hurried up the space between high-rises. Hunter shivered in his arms, shrinking back against the chill in the shadows and into the far more inviting warmth of a brother. "Cr-Crosshair, w-wait…"

"K'uur…" he wrapped the med blanket back over the bare shoulder it slipped free of, "I'll tell them to get you some clean civvies once we've met up with Wreck. Don't worry." Crosshair had just enough time to realize that wasn't only the problem he was worrying about. That tell-tale jerking in the abdomen. Dammit not now.

"Doc!! Need an emesis bag!"

Tech and Omega met the rest of the Batch at [____]'s clinic, carrying a change of clothing for everyone in a large supply crate, most of it Hunter's in the way of various tops. They weren't sure if they would need to supply something loose or skintight for the task of redressing Hunter. Wrecker was laid on the floor of the waiting room, a too-small cold pack plastered over his head. Echo was massaging each of his cybernetic legs habitually, looking in pain whether it due to phantom limb pains or because he had tripped in his haste tailing after their strongman. Crosshair… he smelled sour, acidic, and looked at them over his shoulder from the farthest corner with a disgusted snarl, daring them to make a remark about it. Tech could guess why; another gastrointestinal mishap. He swiftly shoved Cross's clean mock-civvies into one of the many clear drybags and zipped it closed before it was tossed to their brother who was looking slightly green around the gills himself, as the saying went. "Here."

The drybag was snatched out of the air in a blink, and the marksman quickly stalked off down a short hallway to the men's for a second shower cycle in the appropriate 'fresher. He froze when [____] poked her head out into the hallway and called him back, saying Hunter wanted to say something but he'd need to step closer as his brother had kind of lost his voice after the last spell of nausea. "S-sorry, Cross…" Hunter offered from one of the private examination rooms nearby, voice soft and hoarse, as Crosshair had doubled back.

"Don't apologize to me," The initially cold hum of Cross's voice made the doctor flinch, just out of reflex, but had no initial effect on Hunter (at least negatively), "you can't help the side effects… It was merely bad timing." The additional teasing sentiment was enough to finally invite placation, and Crosshair helped Hunter slowly lay back into the mattress of the inclined hospital bed. "Don't be hard on yourself, sarge. Now, behave yourself for the doctor, hm? I'll be back soon to help get you dressed into something once she's gotten all the scans she needs."

Hunter's eyes flitted over to [____] at the utterance of the word doctor but were immediately returned to Crosshair before it could have been noticed by the distracted medic. She was too busy taking a reading from some of her equipment to have seen the break in eye contact or the way a wave of red swelled notably across the un-inked half of the melanin-rich skin of Hunter's face. "O-okay…" By Kamino's rain, Hunter looked so tired. He couldn't, didn't want to, remember the last time his leader, his brother, had looked so spent quite like this.

"Okay," Cross echoed, softer, tender, "be back soon." he promised once again.

Omega was quick to take Cross's position when he left the room, waiting patiently until Hunter gave her the go-ahead to join him up on the bed, perching herself on the edge and taking one of his hands free of a pulse monitor.

"Omega-" Tech started sharply, disapproving.

The ARC tapped the back of the goggled Clone's head sharply, just below where their inhibitor chips once laid, and Tech whined in complaint indignantly. Echo was not going to let Tech spoil the moment. "K'uur, vod."

The finger that meant he was going to interject shot up, climbing to the ceiling sharply. "But she-"

Wrong move.

"K'uur, vod! It's. Fine."

"Th-the equipment? The… tubing for the blood infusion…?" Tech offered feebly, eyes following the thin medical wires that were affixed to and in Hunter. His voice was impossibly timid and small, feeling himself shrink in his posture under the pale, piercing eyes that made one thing clear. Echo was this close to pulling rank or reminding him that in Omega's affectionate use of Mando'a familial terms he was an Ori'vod like do I call him Ori'vod or Ba'vodu Rex? if Tech was not smart and shut up right now. He turned his head and stared pointedly at the wall painted in a cool gray-green with a chalk-base mix (Soothing Sage, he recalled the color being named), trying to mask the unpleasant wave of nervousness he felt when Echo directed his scrutiny and anger at him like this.

The medic planted a soft hand on the shoulder of each brother, breaking the spell of tension from years of practice. "Omega knows to be careful."

"Right, of course… I just…" Nails bit a little deeper into the shoulder of the change of clothes Tech had hastily shimmed into, breaking his explanation.

Just two words to disarm him. "I know." was all that was simply spoken for the time being. She most certainly did. His analytical nature. The black and white thinking. A filter that was both too tight and too loose with his squad and the scant few he dared label a friend. His bad habits… and she had more patience than all 2,000 seats of the Galactic Senate for him all the same. "Can I get you anything, boys? Something to drink?"

He shrugged stiffly. Echo's shoulder to the residual limb bearing the scomp link bounced up and back in languid fashion, the flexing of the elbow joint so fluid it looked organic. "Do you have any of those bottled teas?"

"I have one left, as a matter of fact-" [____] started, moving toward the doorway with a nod when Omega asked if she could have one of the cartons of sweet jogan juice.

"Oh."

Just when he was about to mention that water, no ice, would be plenty fine, the medic continued, halting in the doorway. "And since I know it's one you like, it's been sitting in the itty-bitty cold unit in my back office with your name on it."

"O-oh?"

Indeed it did. In her tidiest handwriting, she had written ECHO in the usually stiff letters of Aurebesh over the glued label on the bottle of tea, the seal freshly broken for him already. There was a unique personality, a feeling to each of the letters - esk, cresh, herf, osk - that tugged a touched smile free of the cybernetically enhanced soldier's surprise while Omega had some help opening the thick, wax coated paper carton of juice. "Thanks, kid… That was incredibly kind of you to save it for me." Those four letters had been written with thought of him, saving a mutually-enjoyed imported beverage for him. A selfless, conscious choice.

Sands of Tatooine, no wonder she has Hunter's heart.

"Heh, you're very welcome, Echo," was sweetly spoken, no indication she was at all distracted by all the individual health-puzzles around her. "Now, I should go make a trade with Wrecker before we check how the blood transfusion is going." She grabbed a second, larger snap-activated cold pack for Wrecker and stepped out into the waiting room to swap it for the comically undersized unit she'd first given him. "Doing okay out here, big guy?"

From how close the voices of the medic and the strongman were now, it was clear Wrecker had gotten on his feet and was following her back to the private examination room. "Heh, feeling better now. Don't worry about me… I'll be fine, ad'ika; wha' about Hunter? He okay? What's with all the tubes? Thought he didn't need as many anymore…" With care and caution to keep his voice low, Wrecker squeezed himself into the doorway and craned his neck inquisitively.

"Two of those tubes are for blood and plasma transfusions; erm, the ones in his arm anyways. The others are all the same as the ones I used on your ship." Wrecker sighed heavily at the word transfusion, thinking for a second he should brace for bad news. A gentle hand found one of his nervously crossed arms and gave it a tender squeeze. He recognized the squeeze. The medic's familiar, comforting it's okay, don't worry squeeze. "I'm just being precautionary, he's going to be okay Wrecker. He is okay. He might be really damn tired once the transfusion is done; so it's really important that he gets some rest once he's home. No. Stims."

Hunter just chuckled wearily on the exam room bed, giving [____] a soft, promising smile. "Don't worry. Wasn't planning on it to begin with…" Everything hurt too much, he was hardly in any shape to do anything when he knew he'd cheated death. The stitches itched and burned underneath the cold bacta-gel and the barrier of gauze was minimal comfort. The weight of his thick, textured hair was uncomfortable on his brow with the absence of his bandanna holding it back and up. He was thankful, touched, she'd dimmed the overhead lights directly above him and the brightness was set to LOWEST: AMBER on each medical monitor. "...plus there's an acronym Echo's told us about…" he added softly.

Dee-something-something. Hunter knew the first word was don't but couldn't recall the rest. Crosshair returned from the men's fresher, the acrid odor of bile gone now.

"Oh yeah?" their friend pressed, a single brow quirked in interest. "What's the acronym?" The galaxy and all her stars, he hoped the monitors wouldn't betray the irregular beat of his heart when she soothingly swept the hair back from his brow and smiled at him while applying a damp rag when he offhandedly mentioned his face feeling warm. The gesture was innocent, just a habit she's picked up with her profession, he reminded himself. She probably did this for every species in the galaxy capable of growing hair. The "intimacy" - the specific variety he was thinking of - of the act was just his imagining…

"That'd be 'D3M':" Echo supplied before Hunter could give him the brother, help me out here expression. "Don't. Make. Medics. Mad. Learned that pretty quickly as a fresh ARC Trooper. You listen to the medics and do as they tell you; otherwise they can and will go to your commanding officers and share exactly what kind of secret shit you've been up to to get yourself in the medbay this time." It made Omega giggle brightly against Hunter's side and [____] laugh half knowingly and half in surprise. Cross chuckled softly in the corner of the exam room when Omega met his eye, still giggling.

"You mean to tell me you weren't quite so straight-laced well before you joined the rowdy rule-breakers of CF99, Echo?" The smile was entirely playful, or at least meant to be. She'd heard the stories of Domino Squad. (She'd heard a select few stories of a Clone with a jokingly self-proclaimed easiest designation to remember ever! of CT 27-5555, the sole-surviving brother named Fives, through stifled tears and hiccups on a few occasions.) She'd been given enough bits and pieces to know what jokes were safe to make. The ARC just gave [____] an impish grin that the other brothers and sister quickly mirrored.

Rowdy rule-breakers.

"Heh! Maybe... Maybe not..." Echo chuckled warmly, lacing his arms across a chest puffed in pride. "I'll let you come to your own conclusions about that, kid."

Every last one of 'em in their own regards.

Whatever that secret mission of theirs was with this “Captain Rex” that resulted in Hunter’s injuries, one could only hope they’d managed to hurt the Empire far worse than that.

[MASTERLIST] [PREVIOUS] [NEXT]

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billdipisjustanothership · 1 month ago

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Don't comment unless you've read everything!!

Hey, uh, Antis, do you understand that shipping is not always about sex?

Do you understand that proship isn't the same as underage x adult and/or incest? It's just letting other people ship whatever they want (which includes self insert x canon, toxic/abusive, dark as in villain x villain or villain x hero, etcetera, all without insulting, harassing and bullying them.

Those same ships mentioned before? They can be portrayed in a wholesome way, not necessarily with abuse or sex, or anything dark.

Antis, do you understand what shipping means? Do you understand what anti harassment is? Do you understand what it bullying? Do you understand how Internet works? Do you understand that real people doing bad things (especially to real kids) doesn't have anything to do with what they ship or write or read online, in fiction? That both Antis and Proshipers could be statically a pedophile regardless of what they consume online, regardless of what they say about themselves, about being proshipers or Antis? Like, real people lie. Real people manipulate.

Real people can say they are against something like pedophilia and actually be pedophiles. Just like some of both Antis and Proshipers said.

There's absolutely no way for you or anyone to know the truth in their real life.

Internet is not a place to harass others over fictional ships.

I've met so many Antis who like gore. Antis who are both kids themselves and also grown ups. Antis who send death threats. And also proshipers who do the same, both experiencing the worse form both sides, all because people want to hurt others behind anonymity.

I've met proshipers who like sweet and fluffy, who practically are shipping the most wholesome and platonic ship ever.

There are Antis who enjoy BillFord and Hannigram (two of the most known dark and abusive with power imbalance dynamics) and sure, they are grown ups. But, like, haven't you realised that many shippers age up characters? That aging up characters isn't the same as pedophilia because pedophilia is being sexually attracted to real kids? Do you understand how pedophilia works?

Do you?

Do you realise how much damage you are causing to real people compared to proshipers? Again, statistically speaking.

How fiction doesn't actually effect real life.

- The slenderman girls didn't kill because of fiction, but because they were mentally ill and would have used anything to kill or hurt someone.

- That the Shark movies (like jaws) was never meant to make people fear sharks enough to increase the killing of those animals, all because of misrepresentation (it was a horror movie, I don't know what people even expected... And they could have searched online to know the truth rather than believe a movie of all things. That's just ridiculous)

And so on.

In the end, the problem isn't fiction, but the people who don't seem to be capable of controlling themselves, separating reality and fiction, nor searching and using common sense, or have really weak morals. All those horror movies don't make everyone kill, same with the crime tvs, or books. We'd be doomed if that was the case. Same with with dark or immoral or whatever they are called now ships.

Another thing that many Antis don't seem to be aware of is the fact that... In writing, the point of view tends to, as they put it, "glorify" abuse and pedophilia when it's written really well (regardless if its from the protagonists pov or the antagonists pov).

Writing a character who enjoys killing doesn't make the creator someone who enjoys killing people, but rather someone who knows how to write really well to the point they make a character believable and easy to understand their behaviour and how they think and why they do what they do. If the character likes something the reader or the writer doesn't, it's actually really good writing! You aren't suppose to like it in real life after all! But in fiction? It's curious, it's entertaining, it's simply having fun with whatever show you are watching, or written story, or drawn comic.

Same with art. That's why it exists. To explore. To create. To improve our own abilities to write, draw, etcetera. Otherwise we'd be boring always doing the same, incapable of knowing, of understanding or even being aware about other ways people think.

None of that means the creators are okay with what they portrayed in their creation, things like in real life pedophilia, incest, murder, cannibalism, abuse, etcetera. It doesn't mean they like it or approve of it. It only means they know how to create and are good at what they are doing. Period.

What Antis are doing is censorship. It's harassment. It's bullying. It's hurting real people, some of them kids themselves, over things that are not real. Stop it. Block what you don't like. Don't go to search it in the tags, nor use those tags to maim those proshipers (some of which aren't even shipping any dark ship, they are simply against harassment)

(I've met wayyyyy too many Antis who are just saying to proshipers to kill themselves, or that they hope they die. Both from adults and from kids as young as 12, according to them. Death threats that are sent towards both adults and kids too. Like, seriously, stop it.)

#vent post #text post #fandom #about ships in general #i swear #i'm done

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wallflowers-at-worlds-end · 3 months ago

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" As much as I'd love to say I'm someone whose fully capable of surviving an apocalypse alone. That would be a HUGE LIE. I. CANNOT. Survive this phenomenon alone, but while I was unfortunate enough to start off on my own, I was lucky enough to come across the people I'd spend the entirety of this world ending event with. " ⇁ D.R.T

WALLFLOWERS AT WORLDS END :

— Depicts the story of an early teen enduring the kickstart of an apocalypse in Canada, aiming to locate his family and surprisingly coming across the closest thing to that.

SETTING :

— Takes place in early 2000s, Pre-apocalyptic and mid apocalyptic circumstances

TAGS :

— Zombie apocalypse, cannibalism, illegal activity, drunk driving, murder, manslaughter, blood, violence, gore, mutilation, dismemberment, decapitation, implosion, major character injury, body modifications, body horror, underage drinking, underage smoking, drug use, implied/referenced overdose attempt, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced rape/non-con, implied/referenced infidelity, psychological torture, physical torture, minor character death, teenagers, teenagers being stupid, teenagers being teenagers, angst, slowburn, fluff, found families, platonic physical affection, lgbtq, original story - freeform, original characters

REGULATIONS :

- Avoid reposting the story without credits, especially if it's another app, please do not claim this as yours . I've worked hard on creating the very base of this book.

- Please at all costs avoid sexualizing the underage characters which involve most if not all of the main cast, this includes but is not limited to inappropriate artworks, nsfw fanfictions, explicit shipping, etcetera.

- Refrain from shipping the characters without considering what I am about to express as the author, forcing characters together out of the canon and confirmed isn't something I wish to occur, though I accept it to be inevitable. Keep in mind that the characters are mirrors to real life people that I, personally know, and I hope for you to respect my wishes, and them as well.

- Awfully specific however blatantly shaming or mocking my story is unacceptable, especially if it involves the label cringe, I dont know, it just seems quite unecessary to single out 'abnormal' behavior in teens. Just, why? No one asked you to do it, and I'm certainly not asking you to, so don't go in my inbox/notes just to say something about a character being weird.

- I feel as if these rules won't cover everything, so I'm going to be updating this in the middle of creating the story.

.... WALLFLOWERS AT WORLDS END

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inevitably-johnlocked · 11 months ago

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Christmas and New Year's Eve 2023 Pt 1: New Bookmarks and WiPs

Happy holidays everyone! Let's get into the holiday spirit with some new Christmas fics I've recently added to my Bookmarks and MFL lists! LOTS of stories, so this list is split up into two lists! PLEASE check out the lists below for past bookmarks and MFLs! If you have a WORK IN PROGRESS that you'd like added to this list, PLEASE add them in the replies/reblogs and I'll add them to subsequent posts of this list!

The second list posting shortly is my MFL list, so if you have a finished fic you'd like me to add to the lists, please add them to the next post!

Thank you so much!! <3 Merry Christmas!!

[PART TWO]